


right here next to you

by niloofar



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Fluff, I wrote this ages ago, Idk why I posted it even, M/M, Nightmares, anyway this is fluff and rogue is a sad baby, please appreciate stingue more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niloofar/pseuds/niloofar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nightmares had always been a constant companion to him. He'd thought he'd gotten used to them. Yet, tonight was different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	right here next to you

**Author's Note:**

> alternative summery: in which I word vomit.

It's childish.

It's childish and stupid and pathetic and he shouldn't be so scared of something as simple as a nightmare. He's had so many before, and he'd thought he had gotten over the feeling of absolute fright that took over him when he'd wake up in cold sweat, struggling to remember where he was, remind himself that it was just a dream, nothing more. Whatever has happened was over (he knew it wasn't), everything will be okay (a voice kept whispering in his ear that it won't) and that he was there, in a bed with his precious exceed next to him, in the house he shared with his blond-haired partner, whom would often be there, sleepy and tired but aware, on the nights that he'd been particularly bothered and shaken, as if sensing his discomfort from his room down the other side of the hall and coming to his side, to aide him and help him, as he always had, as only he knew how to.

But tonight was different. Tonight's nightmare was different, because Rogue never awoke from those dreams crying, screaming. He'd wake up whimpering softly, shaking, and there would be tears in his eyes, on the nights where the visions where particularly vivid and terrifying, and he could still feel them, feel the spidery claws of dark, cold shadows grip him.

But he'd never cried like this, hot tears streaming down his face in rivers, throat closed and aching, hoarse from the scream that escaped him as he woke up, constricting his already labored breath and making it all the more difficult to think.

And amidst his terror, between the tears and the pain and the sobs that managed to escape his hurting, dry throat, there was only one word he could choke out. One word he could think of.

_"Sting."_

And that was it. That was the reason for his misery, for his tears that wouldn't stop.

Sting. Sting whose face he'd seen in his dream, even though he shouldn't have, because the corpses in Rogue's dreams never had any faces, never were recognizable. But tonight, he saw Sting in his dream. Saw the deathly paleness of his skin, saw the lifelessness of his ocean blue eyes that should've been sparkling with a unique light like they always had. He saw the red, the ugly, ugly red that soaked him, streamed from his lips.

Those cold lips that Rogue had kissed in his dream, as he gripped the blond's head in his hands.

Hands that were dyed in the same red that painted Sting's figure, motionless and dead in Rogue's lap.

And oh, there were the shadows too. The sinfully whispering demons as they reached forward with their cruel claws, wrapping around Sting's body, pulling him away from Rogue, away, away and into the endless darkness.

He could hear his own voice screaming, begging, as he holds onto him, his light, his hope, his only remnant of happiness and redemption, _"Don't take him away!"._

Not him. Anyone but him.

But then he was already gone. Disappeared and vanished, and it was then that the agony had become too much. Then, in the last moment where he'd been in dreamland, and had heard the merciless, cruel whispers of **"why are you crying? You are the one who has done this to him. It is your own hands that took him away."**

And oh, how close that voice had sounded. How familiar.

"Rogue?"

And he stopped.

He stopped, his breath coming to a near complete halt, feeling frozen as he slowly turned his head, eyes wide, lips trembling and hands shaking when he caught sight of the person standing in the doorway, whose eyes were wide and searching, worried, oh so worried, and Rogue nearly broke into another sobbing feat as he came closer, calling his name in a gentle and caring voice once more, and Rogue knew he didn't deserve it.

"Hey," the blond spoke, voice soft as he cautiously sat down on the edge of the bed, so close, and Rogue wanted to hide, to turn away and run, "Hey, what's wrong?" His blue eyes —alive, alive, alive— are alight with concern. His hands twitch by his sides and he wants to reach out, to pull the other close, stroke his hair and whisper sweet nothings in his ear until he calmed down. Until those tears that wrenched at his heart stopped, until the pain and absolute despair in those scarlet eyes disappeared.

But he couldn't, he knew he shouldn't, not yet. Not when Rogue shifted away, pressed his back against the headboard and trembled some more. He was trying to get away, to avoid contact, and Sting knew, from both experience and instinct, that pushing him would only result in more reluctance and fear.

But this has never happened before. Rogue had never cried like this before, had never looked so terrified, so hurt. This time was different, Sting could tell. This time, whatever accursed vision he'd seen (Sting wished he could destroy them, those dreams that kept Rogue up at night, tear them apart whenever he saw the pained, stressed look on his partner's face, whenever he noticed the bags under his eyes and knew he hadn't had any rest in days) was different than the rest. And this time, Sting also realises that he needs to act differently.

Rogue is looking at him, staring with the haunted eyes of someone who'd went through a pain much deeper than Sting could imagine, and yet there was a longing look in those crimson eyes that he'd never seen before. A look that seemed to be saying _"Come closer. Please, I need you to be closer"_ even as he pressed himself back. And Sting could tell, could read him from his eyes alone because he was Rogue, and he was Sting, and the two of them were as close as any best friends could get and more. He knew him better than he knew himself, and that was why he didn't hesitate for another moment.

He reached out, ignoring the flinch when he first touched those tense, trembling arms, and then pulled the other close. Fit him against himself, wrapping his arms tightly and securely around him, one hand reaching out to tangle gently in messy, soft strands of hair. Shaking hands came up to cling to the sleeves of his shirt, gripping tightly, afraid to let go. He felt his own chest ache deeply once more, burning in sadness as he felt the witness on Rogue's face when he buried it into his neck. It was the way he'd felt pained when he first came into the room and saw the look across Rogue's face, the room illuminated by the lights of the early morning.

They sat like that for some time, neither really realising for how long, or even caring. The only sound that came was the occasional noises Rogue would make; small, broken sounds accompanied by barely comprehendible words of "Don't disappear" and "stay" or "I'm sorry". Seeing him in such state was heartbreaking in a way that the blond couldn't describe, feeling almost ashamed for being there in the first place, as if his mere presence was hurting the other.

A sense of absolute relief washed over him when the trembling started to lessen before finally coming to a complete halt, Rogue's breath slowly evening, his tense body becoming limp in his arms. He sniffed slightly, letting out a few deep breathes. They continued to remain in the same position, before Rogue finally started to move, slowly pulling away as his hands fell to rest on his lap, head bowed and expression unreadable as his hair covered most of his face.

Sting's hands moved to rest on his shoulders, gripping gently, and he spoke, face set in a soft expression, "Feeling better?"

A small nod. Rogue remained silent for a moment, and then let out a soft mutter, "Sorry."

The blond chuckled, "What for?"

"… For waking you up, and forcing you to put up with me." Even with his head still bowed and his face hard to see, the shame was clear in his voice.

Raising an eyebrow, Sting let out another small laugh. Letting his hands fall down, he proceeded to shift in his place so that he was laying on the bed next to his partner, who got the cue and scooted to the side, the blond's back leaning against the headboard.

"Well, it was actually Fro who woke me up. I told her to stay back in my room and sleep since she seemed pretty tired. And never mind. What worth do I have if I can't even be there when my best friend needs me?" The reply came with a fond smile, and Rogue frowned.

Slowly, he lifted his head to look at him partner, and another pang of sadness hit the blond when he saw the dried tear tracks on his face, flushed cheeks and tired, bloodshot eyes. Realising from the blond's expression that he probably looked like a mess, the black-haired young man blushed in embarrassment and quickly turned his head away once more. He was surprised a bit when he felt a hand gently take hold of his chin to turn him back around, and he was met with the worried expression of his friend. Feeling his chest constrict in guilt, he let his gaze fall down in shame, and blushed slightly when he felt the same hand which had been holding his chin move up to rest against the side of his face, thumb brushing underneath an eye which was still wet from the salty water that had escaped it in rivers.

"Wanna talk about it?" Sting's voice was soft, coaxing, showing his desire to know what had shaken his partner to such an extent. His hand fell down, and Rogue silently squished the disappointment he felt at the loss of contact.

Biting his lip, He considered it for a moment. Considered spilling his fears, his insecurity, the true extent of his dependence on the blond. He considered telling him about the many times he'd felt the inane sense of loss, as if the blond was drifting away from him even though they were as close as ever. And he was tempted to also tell him about his growing feelings towards his best friend, feelings that were hardly platonic in any way, about those sinful desires and fantasies. He thought of telling him everything he hadn't lately, to confide in him the way he always had.

And then decided against it.

_Things like this… I just can't bear to tell you. I'm sorry, Sting._

So instead of answering, the young man slowly laid back down on the bed, tugging at the blond's sleeve so he would lay down as well.

Blinking in confusion, Sting did so, turning to his side so he could face him completely. A silent question danced in his eyes, and in reply, Rogue reached out, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. He shifted closer until he could press his forehead against Sting's collarbone, closing his eyes.

"Sting… Promise me something."

"… Yeah?"

"Wherever you go, take me with you." There was silence after the request, and Rogue knew the other was slightly shocked. He blushed a bit in embarrassment, but was quiet and waiting, expecting a reply.

A moment of silence passed before a chuckle suddenly came from the blond. The black-haired mage didn't need to look up to know that he was smiling in amusement.

"Why would I need to take you? You'll just come along anyway, right?"

"…Right." Was the honest answer, the truth, and Rogue blinked, feeling his tired eyes burning suddenly from the need to sleep, and he then became acutely aware of just how exhausted he was, barely able to stay awake.

Sting's smile widened, his own eyes blinking owlishly. Bending his head just a little, he buried his nose into the black hair, taking in their fine, familiar scent, and then whispered, softly, squeezing the hand in his as he did so, "I promise."

Rogue barely registered the word, but he did indeed, and fell asleep with the smallest of smiles gracing his lips, which was surely to be replaced by an annoyed, tired scowl once he woke up in about two hours, exhausted and sleep-deprived, but that was something to be worried about later. Right now, this moment of precious peace was enough to send him into a deep, dreamless slumber, his partner's familiar warmth close, his hand holding Rogue's own, and his last thought before his eyes closed was how nice it would be to always fall asleep like this, by Sting's side, forever.

_(Arrogance was not the Devil's fall. It was the cowardice in overcoming his fear of inferiority that he so failed to retain his love to the Lord, and thereby sparing himself from eternal damnation.)_

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first stingue fic I share on ao3 (you may or may not know it but I once wrote very awful smut and shared it on tumblr--I'm still embarrassed) and i actually wasn't intending on ever putting this up but I needed to show my love for this ship more (it's the only thing that keeps me going with ft--along with ultear) so I did it. Depending on whether I have another moment of confidence or not I might share another fic.


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